“I know you’re here.” The voice came from behind her. Rowan. Of all the people she might have expected, he wasn’t one of them. She hadn’t prepared herself for the sound of his voice and she felt her heart constrict with painful longing. “You don’t have to keep hiding, you know?” he said. Stella opened her eyes, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Neither did she make herself visible to him. She heard him sigh and this time his voice sounded closer.
“I missed you too,” he said softly. Of all the things he could have said, she hadn’t been prepared for that. They hadn’t spoken since the day he’d visited her in her cell. When she’d told him how much she’d missed him, and he’d left as quickly as possible. If she were honest with herself, she knew she’d purposely avoided him since that day.
“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” he said. “You don’t have to show yourself either, if you’d rather not. It’s okay.” Stella’s heart was thumping so loudly in her ears that she was certain Rowan would hear it. She didn’t know what to say to him, so she said nothing.
He went on. “When I saw you in that hallway that day, I couldn’t believe it.” She heard the wonder in his voice and she wanted to turn and look at him, but she didn’t think she could. “I wanted to run to you and just hold onto you,” he said. “I wanted to make sure I hadn’t finally lost my mind. That you really were there. I didn’t even notice the gun at first. Hell, I think I would have been happy to get shot by you just to prove you were real.” He gave a little chuckle, but Stella didn’t think anything about that day was funny.
“I used to dream about you,” he said after a little pause. “I never told anyone. After you—” he paused and cleared his throat. “After you died, I dreamt about you just about every night for a long time. I’d wake up and for just a second, I’d forget that you were gone. I’d reach for you and then I’d remember.” She heard him pull in a breath and let it out. “To stop the dreams, I tried to avoid sleep. That worked for a few days before my body gave out. Then I started drinking a lot. I’m not proud of it. It wasn’t my finest moment. I was completely useless. I stopped working. I didn’t even show up to my office and pretend. Conrad didn’t push me. I think he was dealing with his own grief and helping your mom.”
Stella felt her heart clench as she imagined the man Rowan was describing. She hated the idea of him in so much pain. Why was he telling her this? She had enough guilt about her time away. She didn’t need more.
She tried to picture Rowan as he’d described himself. Lost. Broken. Self-destructive. Her heart nearly broke thinking of him that way. He’d always been so positive and full of light and Stella hated the idea that her supposed death had caused such a change in him. She wished there was some way to take away the memory of that time. For both of them.
“I was angry. Mean. I lashed out at everyone. I didn’t care about anyone else, really. I just closed myself up in my quarters and tried to drink until I couldn’t remember what I’d lost. Your mom is the one who snapped me out of it.” She could hear a smile in his voice. “She barged in one day. I have no clue how she got into my place, but she did. I don’t know how long it had been since I’d showered or eaten. She pushed me into the shower, clothes and all and turned the cold water on me. She scared the shit out of me, actually.”
He laughed and Stella tried to picture her mother the way he described. She’d seen Gwynn angry over the years and she’d watched her train recruits, so she knew that her mother had a temper. It was just strange to think of her showing it to Rowan, of all people. Gwynn had always loved Rowan. When the two of them had started dating, her mother had practically glowed with approval. Stella pushed the shadows of the past from her mind and focused on Rowan’s voice.
“She yelled at me for a while about what I was doing to myself and how you wouldn’t have wanted me to act that way. How I was better than that.” He scoffed. “I didn’t exactly agree with that last part, but she kept on.” He sighed. “She said something that finally knocked some sense into me.” He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. “So, I started trying again. It took some time, but I eventually got—well, not back to normal exactly, but I found a new normal. I figured out how to go on with my life with this huge piece of myself missing.” He cleared his throat and she heard him walk in the direction of the bench. If she turned her head just a little, she’d be able to see him. She remained still.
“It wasn’t easy,” he said. “I had a lot of really bad days, but it got easier. Not better, just easier.”
He was quiet for a long moment and Stella couldn’t help turning her head just enough so she could see him sitting on the bench. She felt the same insistent call she’d always felt. To go to him, to be near him. She fought against it, but it was so difficult. She felt like she’d always loved him, even before she’d known what love was. She’d been drawn to him for as long as she could remember and whatever Hastings had done to her, he hadn’t taken that away. No matter what happened, she knew she’d always be in love with Rowan Lee. Only now, after all she’d done and all that had been stripped away from her, she didn’t think they’d never be what they once were.
Rowan sighed. “She came to my place every day for two weeks,” he said. “She made sure I ate, drank water, took a shower. Eventually, I crawled my way out of that darkness and I started going back to work. I stopped being a jackass to everyone around me. I decided that this was my life now and I had to keep living it and keep fighting against Ephraim because it’s what you would have wanted for me.”
Stella stood frozen, unable to speak or move. She didn’t know what she would have said anyway. That she was sorry? That she hadn’t wanted to leave him? That she wished she could go back in time and refuse the mission? But she couldn’t say any of that. It was too late for regrets and she couldn’t change the past. All she could do was find a way to live with things as they were now. As she watched, Rowan shook his head ruefully.
“I wish you’d say something,” he said. “It’s so hard to know you’re here, alive and back home and there’s still all this distance between us. We’ve always been able to talk. Even before we—” he trailed off, unable to finish the thought. “Why are you avoiding me?” he pleaded for an answer. She could hear the pain in his voice and it hit her harder than his anger would have.
Her voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could explain it.”
Rowan’s eyes zeroed in on the area her voice had come from. “Try,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. Make me understand.”
Stella sighed and took a step toward him—just a small one, but it was a step and she thought Rowan noticed it. “I don’t know if I understand it,” she said. “So much has changed, and I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know if I can ever go back to the person I was before.”
She could see the pain and sadness in Rowan’s face as he stood and took two steps away from the bench, toward her. She didn’t move away. He still couldn’t see her, and she wondered if that was the reason she’d been able to speak to him at all.
“Stella, I don’t know everything you went through,” he said. “But I want to. I know you don’t think I do, or you think I can’t handle it, but I can.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I know I can never really understand what you went through, but I’m here. I’ll always be here.” He took another step closer to where she stood. If she reached out, she could almost touch him. She remained still.
“You say you don’t know who you are anymore,” he said in a soft voice, taking another step closer. “Maybe that’s true. I’ve changed too. Maybe neither of us will ever be who we were before, and that’s okay. I can live with that. I just need to know that you’ll eventually come back. Even if it’s not for me.”
Stella felt her eyes burn with unshed tears as she stood there. The urge to reach for him was so strong. She knew she should fight against it. She should stay strong. But right then, she didn’t feel very strong
.
“Rowan,” she whispered his name as her hand moved toward his. She let the back of her fingers brush his hand. He didn’t move, but she watched his eyes fall closed as he released a breath he’d been holding. She didn’t know what had made her reach for him, but that small touch sent a wave of emotion and memory rushing over her. They stood that way for several seconds, her hand barely touching his. Neither of them spoke—both content to just be close for a few moments longer.
Finally, Stella forced herself to pull her hand from his. “I’ll try,” she said. “No promises.” She turned and walked from the room, leaving Rowan standing there alone in the empty room.
A coughing fit woke Declan in the middle of the night. He felt like a white-hot poker was clawing its way up from his lungs with every spasm. The pain radiated out from the center of his chest with every breath. He tried desperately to stop the wracking coughs but couldn't.
The lamp clicked on, flooding the room with soft light. Bree's worried face hovered over him. He tried to sit up but the pain in his chest made him slow, weak. He flopped back down onto the pillow as the coughing finally subsided. He wiped his mouth and his hand came away sticky. He tried to hide the smear of blood, but Bree had already seen it. He took a tissue from the bedside table and wiped it away. She didn't say anything to him, but he could see the concern in her eyes. As his breathing finally returned to normal, he attempted a smile at her, but she didn't smile back. Her eyes went to the angry purple splotches on his chest.
He reached a hand to her cheek. “Hey,” he said, hating that his voice had a raspy quality that he knew would only worry her more. “Stop that,” he said.
Bree's gaze went back to his face. “Stop what?” she asked.
Declan gave her a knowing look. “Stop thinking about how bad it could have been,” he said.
She rolled her eyes at him but looked close to tears. Her voice was a whisper. “Easy for you to say.” She tried to smile but it was wobbly.
She took a deep breath and shook herself. Declan felt a sense of pride as he watched her seem to pull a cloak of strength about herself. He loved that about her. He smiled and fought against the tickle that signaled another cough coming. Bree's brow lowered, and she climbed from the bed and left the room. She came back with a glass of water and a large white pill in her hand. Declan opened his mouth to argue with her, but another fit of coughing came over him and he wondered if he might be dying.
Bree reached behind him, helping him to sit up higher against the headboard. She held tissues to his mouth as he spat out bright red blood. Finally, the coughing subsided, and he was able to take shallow breaths. Each one was a fiery agony, but he wasn't coughing which was a definite improvement.
“How’s your breathing?” she asked, her brows low in concern.
Declan smiled at her. “I’m okay,” he said, his voice still raspy. Bree didn’t look convinced. “I promise,” he said. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
She nodded and seemed to relax slightly. “Declan,” she said, making sure she had his attention. “Please. Take the pill so you can at least sleep.”
Declan tried to ignore the pleading look in her blue eyes, but he knew he was caving. He was hurting too badly to argue about it. He closed his eyes and held out his hand for the pill. He would do anything for those eyes. He quickly washed the pill down with the water, appreciating the way the cool liquid soothed his throat briefly.
Bree smiled. “Thank you,” she said. She propped more pillows behind him, instructing him to sleep elevated. “When I'm sick I always cough more when I'm lying down,” she said. “This might help.”
Declan hated how weak he was, but he was grateful that Bree was there to care for him. When they’d both settled back under the blankets, he slid his hand across the bed, searching for hers. She took his hand, interlocking their fingers.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
His thoughts were getting fuzzy. The pill was working quicker than he’d anticipated. He felt both of Bree’s hands wrap around his and smiled as he felt his eyes slide closed.
“Love you,” he heard himself murmur as though from far away. Her hand stroked his as he fell headlong into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When Declan woke the next day, his first thought was pain. Quickly following that thought was thirst and the need to get to a bathroom. He opened his eyes to the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Turning his head to see the clock, he saw that it was nearing noon. How long had he slept? His head was foggy from the pill Bree had insisted he take the night before. Still, he was grateful for the uninterrupted sleep. He turned to survey the rest of the bedroom, wondering where she was.
He shifted to try and sit up, but the pain had him letting out an involuntary groan. “Whoa,” he heard a male voice say from the doorway as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting. Looking in the direction of the voice, he saw Rowan leaning against the doorjamb.
“You should probably stay in bed for a while,” Rowan said. “You got kinda shot last night, man.”
Declan gave a breathless laugh that caused more pain than he wanted to let on. “Just a little bit,” he said with another groan. “I hate to ask, but can I get a hand?”
Rowan moved over to the side of the bed and lowered his shoulder under Declan’s arm, helping him to sit on the side of the bed. He stepped back and studied his friend. “You look like shit,” he said bluntly. Declan answered him with a rude hand gesture. Rowan chuckled. “Guess there’s nothing wrong with your hand, then,” he said.
Declan had never been in a car accident, but he’d always heard that the day after an accident was more painful than the moments immediately afterward. He wasn’t sure if that was true, but he could now say with certainty that it was true of gunshots. He felt like he’d been hit by a semi truck. He glanced down at his chest, trying to see the extent of the bruising but gave up when even that simple act seemed to hurt.
“Ow,” he said, looking at Rowan. For his part, Rowan appeared to be sympathetic, if also slightly amused by Declan’s pain.
“What can I do to help?” he asked.
Declan hated feeling so helpless, but he said, “Just make sure I don’t fall on my ass on the way to the bathroom.”
Rowan flashed a smile. “You got it,” he said. He stood close to Declan as he moved to stand but didn’t reach out to help him.
Once Declan made it to his feet, he felt a bit steadier. He thought part of the weakness he was feeling was due to the pain pill Bree had forced upon him the night before. He also noticed that his stomach was growling loudly. His chest hurt but only when he breathed, so he figured he would live.
“Where’s Bree, anyway?” he asked as he walked slowly toward the bathroom, Rowan following close behind him.
“I saw her at the debrief this morning but then she said she had something to do with Rylee,” he said. “She asked me to hang out with you until she got back. In case you needed something. I’ve been here for about an hour. I don’t think she slept much last night. She looks almost as tired as you do.”
Declan felt a surge of guilt imagining Bree sitting up all night, watching him sleep, worrying about him. He knew there was nothing he could have done to stop her—in her place, he would have done the same—but it still bothered him. He looked at Rowan with a question in his eyes.
“What?” Rowan asked. Declan thought he looked different this morning, but it could have been getting shot that changed his perspective a bit.
“You were smiling,” Declan said. “Haven’t seen that in a while.”
Rowan shrugged and looked away from Declan’s gaze. “I smile,” he said, his tone defensive.
Declan looked at him from under raised brows. “Not often and not recently,” he said.
Rowan rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “Shut up and keep walking.” Declan gave him an assessing look but let the subject drop.
When he finally reached the bathroom door, he turned to look at Rowan. “I think I can take it from here,” he told him.<
br />
Rowan held his hands up. “Good. That’s not my area of expertise,” he said. “I’ll be out here. Please don’t fall or Bree will be seriously pissed at me.”
“I think I’m good now,” Declan said as he closed the bathroom door behind him. After using the bathroom, he stood in front of the mirror, studying the bruises on his chest. He reached up to gingerly touch one and sucked in a breath as pain radiated out from even that small touch. No wonder Bree had stared so hard at them. They were hideous.
He thought back to the night before. The mission. It had happened so fast. One second, he’d been standing, about to move from one doorway to another. The next second, he’d been knocked to the ground by what felt like a wrecking ball. He’d reached for his chest and felt hot metal partially buried in the center of his vest. Breathing had been nearly impossible for several seconds. For a moment, he’d wondered if maybe the vest had failed, and he’d truly been shot. Then he saw Bree’s panicked face hovering over his and knew he needed to relieve her that he was okay. Speaking had been impossible with his lack of oxygen, so he’d given her a nod and squeezed her hand, mouthing the words through a grimace of pain. “I’m okay,” he’d tried to say, but it had come out as a strangled wheezing noise.
Now, looking in the bathroom mirror, he counted himself lucky that the bullets had been stopped by the body armor. He knew he could have been killed and he was grateful to be alive right now. He tested himself, seeing how deeply he could breathe without searing pain. Not very, he decided quickly. He splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth. Even those simple acts caused pain. He’d never realized before how much he relied on the muscles in his chest. Turning away from the awful bruises, he opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
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